Fantasy Dom Ch. 02: An Afternoon Drive


I didn’t need to imagine a stimulating, exotic and erotic setting. I’d missed it, not having visited for several months. But there I was. A late afternoon. Sitting on the deck in her and her husband’s beautiful home. Scrub oak, pine trees; a vista of red rock formations contrasting against a late afternoon azure sky; the verdant green of the golf course; a covered deck with a gurgling water feature and a cozy fire pit; secluded, with nearly complete privacy. The epitome of luxury and good taste. We were alone, my friend and mutually acknowledged Fantasy Dom and I. Her husband was in the middle of a golf tournament at the country club. My wife was chilling at our home, some forty miles away. At least that was the story. I wondered…

All this cascaded through my thoughts as I gazed at my Fantasy Dom, she who had, the last time we’d seen each other, ventured into the realm of Real Dom. I recalled how she manipulated me into spanking my own bottom with a hair brush. And then followed up with her own flogging. It was an intense experience for me and I wondered if it were a one time deal or a portent of things to come.

Eager for things to continue, since my last visit I’d sent her tributes, a couple silly (kinky) poems and touched base with her sufficiently so that I couldn’t be charged with neglect. My ongoing homage stimulated my cravings for her.

One I was particularly proud of was a poem I composed, complimenting her as my bartender, my Goddess, my Fantasy Dom and as my friend. It is tangential to the story, but it does give you an idea of the kinds of tributes I sent to her during our long absence. Corny, yeah, but heartfelt.

Four Toasts

We sat enjoying each other

As we were wont to do

When out of the blue she told me,

“I’ve got a task for you.

Please leave then you will return,

With bard impressions in tow,

Four of these trips you’ll be making,

Each time you will bow low.

You’ll flatter me with a toast,

Or should I use the word “us?”

I’m Bartender, Goddess and Friend,

Add Fantasy Dom — a must.

Each of these four you will praise,

Making four effusive toasts.

Try your best to impress them all,

“We’ll” pick one “we” like most.

What’s in it for the winner?

Gets a sublime reward!

I’ll then assume that role for you,

Guarantee, you won’t be bored.”

The challenge — it was all set.

I would lay it on thick.

To flatter and to charm all four

At the end she will pick!

I left and gathered my thoughts.

“Muse, lend me your persona.

I’ve got to make four heartfelt toasts

To flatter them all, I wanna.”

Back in I strode to offer

Accolades and tribute

To each of her four dimensions,

Every one of them a beaut.

I cleared my throat and spoke low…

“Bartender, you’re a dish.

How you sashay and swivel

Inspires guys’ lustful wish.

But so much more you offer —

You size us patrons up.

You smile and converse with such ease;

World news to Stanley Cup

Philosophy, sports and travel,

Politics it’s the all same.

Entertainment or Vegas odds

All repartee’s your game.

And then you make quick pivot

Probe private stories and woes.

You comfort and console us all,

Pamper from head to toes.

You make us feel valued and welcomed;

And then you make us giddy…

Safely aloof — we’ve got no chance

To hit on you — a pity.

Meanwhile you tantalize us

You stir and shake and pour

These delectable concoctions

Kings could not expect more.

Your clients we’re all enthralled;

You’re such a seasoned pro.

You’re mischievous, tempting and kind.

You put on a great show.”

That was it, my best attempt

To fawn over Bartender.

‘Twas sincere, I spoke from the heart,

No BS, no pretender.

“Not bad for an improv toast,”

She gave a real quick rating.

“Now leave and come back for the next —

Your Goddess, she’s awaiting.”

Excused myself then returned.

I hoped to keep it going.

“This might be a tough one,” I guessed,

To keep the sweet talk flowing.

“Oh Goddess, oh divine being,

Praise, from this mere mortal.

I beg that you show me patience,

This tongue a meager portal.

Words fail to capture your essence,

So pure, like a dew drop.

In the ranking of existence,

You’re clearly at the top.

You deserve every ounce of reverence,

No adoration too much.

You transcend all that is bestial

And exude what is just.

You eclipse the mere mundane.

And inspire our devotion.

Your radiant existence dazzles,

Blurs our logic like potion.

We admire your heavenly visage

And pray that we don’t falter.

We want so much to genuflect

At your hallowed altar.

We beg that you will allow

Us lesser, lower peons

The chance to gaze upon your being

And worship you for eons.”

And with that final tribute

I hoped I did convey

My sincere esteem and honor,

This Eskort Bayan Goddess’s heart to sway.

“Again, I can tell you’re trying.

Not bad for an adlib.

Your Goddess enjoys the cowering

You sound like it’s no fib.”

Once more I took to neutral ground

To gather inchoate thoughts.

The next challenge was awaiting

Fantasy Dom — so hot!

“My Mistress, My Dom, My Dream…

You ignite carnal thoughts.

You make me want to kneel and beg

While we throw down some shots.

Keenly you read my desires.

You know how I love naughty.

You tempt and tease and take my breath

With taunts that are so bawdy.

Playful but a strict façade,

I fear your stern demeanor.

You just might tie me up and make

Me plead ‘Please, don’t get meaner!’

Your condescension exacts

A response of compliance.

Demanding and reprimanding,

I dare not show defiance.

I’ll do whatever you say.

Directives, fast they come.

I bow, obey and acquiesce…

Ball gag makes me stay mum.

Submission to you thrilling.

You know I’ll follow orders.

You’ve shown before you’re not afraid

To push limits and borders.

I love to kneel or to crawl

For a Dom so striking.

I yearn to do your bidding, Ma’am,

Perform all to your liking.”

Few things are quite so rousing

As when you wield a whip.

An earnest plea for leniency

Or you might let it rip.

When fancy strikes you dish out

Forced humiliation.

Such sessions as your abject slave

Are artful creations.”

I stopped, gathered composure.

My breath I finally caught.

I hoped my genuine homage

Would be completely bought.

“You horny little bastard.

These nasty dreams you share,

These vivid fantasies do tell

Submissive side laid bare.

The tribute seemed wholehearted.

Your toast it was sincere.

But now we have one final praise —

To honor your friend here.”

I trotted off to ponder

What I might want to say

In my final salutation

To my dear friend this day.

I realized that pressure

A problem was no longer.

To speak to my dear confidant

I felt sure and stronger.

“You know, I am so lucky

To count you as a friend

On no score-keeping tally sheet

Does our rapport depend.

I get the sharp sensation,

Backwards you’d bend for me.

Of so few can I make that claim

How fortunate for me!

Uplifting and encouraging,

Your kindness makes me blush.

To think someone so cool as you

Likes me, it’s such a rush!

Your interest in my well being

It flatters me to think.

I want to raise my glass and thank

You from my heart and wink.

Impulse is to lavish you

With praise and gifts and cheer.

To show my fondness and my love

Your essence to endear.

It’s a love no matter what else —

Acceptance, no conditions.

We cherish each other as we are,

No phony renditions.”

With those sentiments I stopped

Little more could I say.

I’d offered a bona fide tribute

In the most earnest way.

“Well aren’t you quite the charmer?

A silver-tongued sweet talker.

Now I’ll sit back, deliberate,

Might my choice be a shocker?

You’re wondering who inspired?

Which persona does loom?

Which of your toasts rose to the top?

Which role will I assume?

I could be your bartender

For time left us tonight

I could be Goddess or Fem Dom,

Or good friend, I just might.

I wonder which you would prefer,

Which one would stoke your fire?

You know I can play lots of roles

All your passions inspire.

My decision, it is made.

Don’t care if you agree,

I’m confident, this evening’s role

Will bring unsurpassed glee…

Stand up and pull your shoulders back.

My edict is impending

Now close your eyes and brace yourself,

Your heartrate it’s ascending.”

I did exactly as was told.

My legs began to quiver.

A bead of sweat formed on my brow,

Involuntary shiver.

That’s what she always does to me,

No matter in what role…

Bartender, Goddess, Fem Dom, Friend…

They all seduce my soul.

I sent that poem to her but didn’t hear anything for some time. Then, out of the blue, she invited me down for a late afternoon visit while, again, her husband was at a club golf tournament. I accepted. And here I was, in this lovely setting, alone with my Fantasy Dom. We immediately resumed one of our favorite activities, the ritual of creating superb cocktails. We still had several hours of daylight, we were alone, and the bar was open.

We’d just begun to sip one of her special martinis, one made with Tangueray Number Ten, St. Germaine liqueur and a slice of mandarin orange, up, with a few dirty ice cubes to keep it refreshingly cold. It was delicious. It was dangerous. I was eager, on this fine afternoon, to experience the gentle glow of feeling tipsy and sensed that she was too.

We opined and philosophized, as we were wont to do, when she interrupted the moment by pulling out her cell phone. She scrolled through a couple screens and told me she just had to make a business-related call. I stood and began to make a courteous exit to allow a more private conversation. She shook her head “no,” pointed for me to stay where I was and emphatically said, “Stay right there.” I sat back down and sipped my cocktail.

Upon identifying herself to the person on the other end, her countenance and comportment transformed discernibly. She resettled onto the edge of her chair, her posture squared up, her eyes focused on nothing tangible, instead fixing a steely, penetrating gaze on an empty space in front of her.

Clearly displeased with something, she proceeded decisively and forcefully. She informed the other party that she was aware of some “confusion” in the chain of command. That she and she alone was the executive officer of the company (she was, indeed, VP of a thriving firm) and it was she who’d be making the decision under scrutiny. She chastised someone else in the chain of command for attempting to usurp her authority, saying she’d deal with him later. She described what was going to happen, who was going to do what and when. It was not a discussion. She was clearly laying down the law. She spoke in a tone of power and clarity that a drill sergeant would admire. When she was done she hung up with only the most perfunctory goodbye of “I’ll follow up with you on Monday.” No question, she had thoroughly delivered an ass-chewing to the person on the other end.

Sub that I am, her clear marching orders and directives reaffirmed my intuition (my belief…my conviction) that my Fantasy Dom could quite naturally play the role of Real Dom when she wanted. Her take-charge persona was magnificent. My admiration welled up inside of me. I gazed at her in adoration as she just sat for a moment and took a long draw from her cocktail.

“Sorry ’bout that,” she said. “Sometimes you just have to take charge — reestablish a clear chain of command.” She took another sip.

Witnessing her seize control like that and resolve whatever happened with unwavering confidence and assertiveness was overwhelming. I had to tell her.

“Man, you are awesome. You are so thoroughly a natural-born boss. A bad-ass boss!”

“I suppose you’re going to tell me it turned you on to hear me chew somebody out and put them in their place.”

“Like you can’t imagine,” I replied. “And I mean that as a sincere compliment.”

“Hmmm,” she responded noncommittally, sipping her cocktail greedily, emptying her glass. I did the same. I was beginning to catch a nice buzz and figured she was too. “I guess I’m getting to know you pretty well. I figured it would push your buttons, the presence of an assertive woman, a bossy woman. Even a little bit of a bitchy one.” She stared directly into my eyes.

“Yeah. I guess you do know me pretty well. Pushed my buttons!.” Then, sheepishly, playfully, I said, “You know that the thought of YOU ordering ME around has been, and still is, one of my most cherished fantasies.”

“I know,” she replied confidently. Then, “What would you say if I told you I made up that conversation?”

“What?” I asked naively.

“There was nobody on the other end of that phone call. I just thought I’d mess with you. To see how you react. You love it, don’t you. You’re really turned on by a take-charge, bossy bitch, aren’t you?”

Feeling rather stupid after completely falling for the fake call and then being so transparent that she’d sized me up with complete accuracy, I had little choice but to fess up. “Yeah. It turns me on. A take-charge Dom is one of my fantasies. But you kind of knew that, didn’t you? And I can’t believe you just did that!” I really was floored that she’d duped me so successfully.

“Yeah. Well, I just wanted to see what would happen. And I just wanted to mess with you a little. I can do that.” Then she added provocatively, “A Fantasy Dom can do whatever she wants.” She offered an enigmatic Mona Lisa smile and lifted her empty glass. “Let’s go to the bar. I’m making us another round.”

We walked to the bar and she began lining up her ingredients for a second helping of St. Germaine martinis. Suddenly, she reached across the bar and, almost in slow motion, grabbed a fistful of my shirt, tightening the collar around my neck.

“I own you. You’re mine. You are my slave. And you’re going to do everything I tell you to, slave.”

Holy shit, I thought. This was a quick change in tone. She’d never addressed me quite like that. Without skipping a beat, she continued.

“And right now you are going to fetch some rope, or something I can use as rope, and something to use as a blindfold. Do you understand, slave?”

I was shocked — by her gripping fingers — by her stone-cold serious tone — by her reference to me as “slave” — and by the request itself. The soft banter had transformed into a far more intimidating tone. I was involuntarily startled and just a little bit frightened by this out-of-character behavior. And though clueless about what she was up to, rope and a blindfold were obviously the tools of a dominant in a submissive’s world. Not only did she have my rapt attention, my imagination churned.

“I understand. But where will I get those?” I asked meekly, being a mere guest in her home and having no clue where I might find such accouterments.

“Are you really that helpless? I expect you to carry out orders without me spelling out every detail. If you’re so incompetent that you can’t carry out orders, then this session is over…slave.”

“I’m going,” I blurted, leaving my bar seat immediately, racing off to a safe haven where I could gather my thoughts and figure out how I COULD carry out her orders. I stood in the upstairs kitchen, leaving her at the downstairs bar. Her words echoed in my head…addressing me as “slave” and about this being a “session.” I still had no clue what she was up to. And I had no idea where to look for a rope and blindfold. But I knew I had to please her — my Fantasy Dom who seemed to be morphing into…well, my REAL Dom. I didn’t know how to proceed. I began to panic. Then I thought…my car! My SUV was here and I carry lots of emergency provisions. I couldn’t recall for sure, but maybe, just maybe…

I rushed to my vehicle and popped open the rear hatch. I lifted the carpeted lid to the spare tire compartment. I was in luck. I’d stashed a wound-up length of nylon rope in there. Far too much — probably 50 feet or so. Not knowing just how much she wanted, I pulled out about a six-foot length. I grabbed a trusted Swiss Army knife from my glove box and cut off the six-foot segment.

Pleased with myself, I then wondered where I could find a blindfold. I looked in the spare tire compartment but saw nothing. Then I noticed, right in front of me, the old blanket that I had spread out over the entire storage compartment of my vehicle — a crappy old blanket that served to protect the sides, doors and wheel wells from getting beat up when I hauled shit. I took my knife and, with considerable effort, cut out a length of about 18″ X 3″. I congratulated myself on my resourcefulness and proceeded to join my friend downstairs.

She had transferred our hang-out from outside to indoors, beside the fireplace. Our cocktails awaited on the coffee table and she sat on one side of the couch. The fireplace flickered the gentlest of flames and the a subtle heat emanated from its confines. And she had changed outfits.

She wore what looked like an over-sized, guy’s dress shirt that flowed over her hips to mid-thigh. Probably her husband’s, I guessed. She wore some black leggings and a pair of black boots with modest heels of about two inches. I’d told her in the past how much I love boots on a woman. I’d never told her how alluring I found tights/nylons and chicks wearing guys’ shirts. I congratulated myself into thinking that she’d donned the outfit to further intoxicate me. Nonetheless, I was nervous and self-conscious. I felt a rush of apprehension — this was not the woman I knew. I mean, I knew who she was, but this creature exuded the commanding presence of a no-nonsense dominatrix. My inexperience with such a dignitary was exposed. I lay the rope and cloth on the table. I felt myself shaking just a bit with uncertainty, with apprehension. I knew she sensed my uneasiness. It seemed to please her. She exuded self-assurance.

“You look…” I searched for the right words, “…diabolically seductive.” She didn’t respond to my compliment. Instead, she examined the rope and makeshift blindfold.

“These should do. You carried out my orders. I had my doubts. Maybe you CAN be trained to be a decent slave.” She spoke in a more formal tone than I was used to, creating an austere distance. While it was on the one hand a dream come true, it also frightened me. She was crossing over into unchartered territory. I was thrilled and afraid.

“Put on the blindfold, slave,” she demanded.

I sat next to her, promptly removed my glasses, wrapped the cloth around my head and tied it securely in back. There was a momentary silence until I felt the edge of a martini glass being pressed to my lips. “Drink. A nice big sip,” she instructed, feeding me a healthy dose of the cocktail. I did as she said. Then, “Make it two big sips,” she ordered, before placing the libation back on the table.

“Now tie your wrists behind your back, slave.”

How on earth am I supposed to do that, I wondered, knowing better than to ask. I proceeded to give it my best. Being blind didn’t help. I clumsily wrapped the rope around my wrists and managed to create some semblance of a knot, although not a very good one. Then I attempted to step, one foot at a time, through my arms so that I could get them behind my back. I struggled unsuccessfully to pull off this maneuver.

“Can’t you carry out instructions? If you want to be my slave, you’re going to have to be more resourceful. I just hate incompetence. Stand up and turn around, slave,” she demanded curtly.

She proceeded to tie my wrists securely behind my back. What I was unable to do, she made up for with an inescapable weave of twine and knots. I tugged to test the handcuffing. I was tightly cinched. The reality of being truly confined struck me. I was blindfolded and firmly bound. I felt quite helpless. Almost like a prisoner. My Fantasy Dom was turning my fancies into real life. My incredulous introspection lasted no more than seconds before I heard her voice again.